


Some Mornings It Just Doesn't Pay

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:29:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from the episode "Choirs of Angels."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Mornings It Just Doesn't Pay

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #3 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"You're just weird."_

 

          Harrison Blackwood listened to the soft patter of rain as it began to fall.  He paused in his cleanup activities and stretched.  Walking to the window, he pulled it open and breathed in the sweet rain-cleansed breeze.  He shook his head.  Less than forty-eight hours ago he'd been in the throes of an alien-induced musical addiction that had caused him to say and do many things he wished fervently he could forget.  He couldn't.  Every action, every word, every expression was still etched into his memory.

          The one constant during his ordeal had been the steady presence of Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse.  The soldier had listened to all the things Harrison had attacked him with, never once wavering.  Blackwood felt guilty, and just a little unsure about how he should go about apologizing to the man.  There hadn't been an opportunity to really talk to Ironhorse about it; the events at the von Deer lab had kept them busy until now.  But it was over.  They were back at the Cottage and Harrison knew he needed to make his peace with Ironhorse.

          Blackwood had to talk to the man, explain.  If he didn't, the guilt would continue to pick at the edges of his soul.  He took a second deep breath, savoring the clean smell the rain brought.  The breeze had died down…  A smile split his gloomy expression.

          Walking purposefully out of his office, Blackwood opened the front door as far as he could, and stood in the doorway, watching the gentle purging of the air.  Nature's absolution.  He left the door open.  With no wind, there was no reason not to, besides, a little rain wasn't going to hurt the floor.  He wanted to feel clean again and this was a first step.

          Blackwood returned to his cleaning, picking up the books and papers he had so roughly shoved onto the floor two days ago.  _Oh, Paul_ , he thought as he worked, _how did you do it?_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          His head dropping slowly to rest on his crossed arms, Blackwood felt the frustration rise up to overwhelm him.  He was lost.  He was alone.  The friends he thought he had refused to help him.  They had consigned him to this world of deprivation.  They hated him.

Harrison felt, rather than saw Ironhorse step forward, then back.  _Why_ , the scientist screamed silently.  _Why won't you help me?_

          Anger began to rumble up in the man, replacing the fear and desolation.  The tears dried up.  He remained bent over at the desk, his breaths coming in shorter and shorter pants.  Who the hell did Ironhorse think he was?  Who was in charge here, anyway?

Rising, Harrison found the colonel leaning back against the door to the office.  His arms folded across his chest, Ironhorse looked like a wooden Indian, without compassion… cruel.  Blackwood felt the anger slip into rage.

          Pushing himself to his feet, Harrison knew he had to be careful.  Ironhorse was a trained killing machine.  Definitely a machine…

Walking toward the door, he tried to look as calm as possible, but inside he was being consumed by a blinding red aggression.

          "Doctor?" the colonel questioned, his eyes narrowing.

          With an air-rending scream, Blackwood threw himself at the soldier.  The attack caught Ironhorse off-guard, and Harrison's shoulder contacted soundly with the colonel's mid-section, slamming him back against the door.

          "Colonel?" Norton yelled from the other side.

          "Stay out!" Ironhorse managed, as Blackwood began to flail his arms dangerously.

          "What's going on?!" came Drake's reply.

          The colonel was unable to answer as he tried to pin the scientist's arms.  The two men crashed to the floor as Blackwood accidentally lost his balance and fell.  Ironhorse took advantage of the moment and twisted so he landed on top of Blackwood.

          Straddling Harrison's hips, the colonel tried to pin the man's arms, but Blackwood's strength seemed enhanced, and he was totally unconcerned about injuring himself.  One hand slipped out of Ironhorse's grasp and connected soundly with the side of the soldier's head, knocking him off.

          Scrambling to his hands and knees, Blackwood was able to snare the shoulder of Ironhorse's shirt.  Dragging the stunned man to his feet, Harrison slammed him against the door a second time, knocking the breath out of the man and tearing the shirt.

          "Harrison!" Norton yelled from behind the safety of the locked door.

          Sensing that he was going to have to act whether or not he wanted to, Ironhorse snapped his hands up, his fingers stiff in a knife-hand position.  With a carefully controlled accuracy, Ironhorse struck where Blackwood's neck and shoulder met.  The scientist fell to his knees, a second scream splitting the room and causing Ironhorse's guts to knot.  What if Blackwood had lost it for good?  What the hell were they going to do?

          Scooting away from the soldier, Harrison climbed to his feet, the anger once again replaced by fear.  With a half-strangled moaning cry, he threw himself at the wall, his fists beating against it in pain and frustration.

After a few moments Blackwood's energy was spent, and he sank to a trembling ball on the floor.  Ironhorse waited, uncertain as to what he should do.  When it was clear that the man was no longer violent, he joined the man, reaching to gently grip his shoulder.  "Harrison?"

          "Leave me alone," he moaned, curling into a tighter ball.  With a final shudder, Blackwood slipped into a stupor.

          Catching the suddenly limp shoulders, Ironhorse positioned himself and lifted Blackwood.  The door opened, and Norton rolled in slightly, staff in hand.

          "Is he—?"

          "Just passed out," Ironhorse said, carrying the man to the couch and laying him down.  "Can you watch him while I change?"

          "Sure," Drake agreed cautiously as he eyed the still form then the torn shirt and panting soldier.  "You okay?"

          Ironhorse nodded, stalking out of the room.  When he returned a few minutes later, he was carrying his Indian blanket.  Norton watched while the colonel spread it over Harrison, careful not to disturb the man as he did so.

          "What do you think?" Drake whispered.

          "I don't know, Norton," Ironhorse replied.  "I just pray he pulls out of it."

          "Me, too.  Do you want me to stay?"

          "No, I'll be fine.  I want you close to the phone in case Suzanne calls," the colonel said, arranging a position for himself.

          "Right.  Call me if you need a break," the black man said, rolling Gertrude back.

          "Will do."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          When he woke, Ironhorse had been there.  Harrison felt his throat tighten, remembering the hesitation before the soldier accepted his hand, but the grip had been heartfelt.  Blackwood sighed, a sound catching his attention as the colonel, as if on cue, left his first floor bedroom and headed for his own office.  Dropping down behind his desk, Harrison listened as the soldier reached the hall.

          Ironhorse paused, frowning at the open door.  Moving silently in his moccasins, he crept forward, his battle senses quiet.  What the hell was going on?

          Passing by Blackwood's office, Ironhorse missed seeing the man buried beneath his desk, rounding up the last of the stray papers.  At the open front door, the soldier paused.  It was still raining, slightly harder than the sprinkle that had awakened him earlier.  A breeze whistling past caused him to shiver.

          Stalking to the doorway, Ironhorse leaned out, his eyes scanning the dawn gloom.  Nothing.  He eased out further, a shadow in the nearby trees catching his attention.  A stronger breeze rushed past the soldier, pulling the door closed with bang that almost had the soldier on the ground.  The colonel spun, grabbing at the handle.  It was locked.

          "Damn," the soldier breathed, his eyes rolling heavenward.  "If anyone finds out about this…"  With a sigh, he began a careful prowl toward the kitchen entrance.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison started, his head connecting soundly with the bottom of his desk drawer.  "Ouch," he moaned, backing out with the papers in hand.  Laying the sheets on his desk, Blackwood walked out into the hall.  The door had blown shut.

          "Storm's getting stronger," Suzanne said, descending the steps to join the man in the hallway.  "What was that noise?"

          "Oh, the door blew shut.  I had it open to let the fresh air in," Harrison explained, his brow wrinkling.  Where was Ironhorse?

          "I'm surprised Paul isn't out here with Uzi in hand," the microbiologist said with a smile.

          Blackwood nodded.  "You're right.  Where is our good colonel?"

          Suzanne shrugged.  "In the kitchen visiting Mr. Coffee, if he's smart,"  she said around a yawn.  "And I'm going to join him."

          Realization dawned in the scientist's mind.  He fought the smile off his face.  "Sounds good to me," Harrison said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders affectionately.  "I need to talk to Ironhorse anyway."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The colonel continued around the house, careful to stay as close to the wall as possible.  The shadows there would hide him effectively until he could get to the kitchen and then head for his room.  He felt like an idiot.  Locked out of his own house… in his sweats…  He looked down at his feet.  In his moccasins…  In the rain…

Sigh.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Reaching the kitchen, the two scientists found it dark and empty.  Suzanne turned on the lights, then the Mr. Coffee.  "He's sleeping late," she commented.

          Blackwood nodded, knowing better.  "After the last few days, he's entitled."

          As they waited for the pot to fill halfway before stealing cups, the pair enjoyed a companionable silence.  An odd slogging sound startled the microbiologist.  "What's that?" Suzanne whispered, taking an involuntary step closer to Harrison.  He shrugged, and nearly giggled.

          The kitchen door rattled in its frame and a muffled unprintable expletive followed.  Blackwood motioned for Suzanne to stay put and proceeded to the door.  With a quick peek out the curtain, he choked back a laugh, turned the lock and opened the door.

          The expression on Ironhorse's face lifted the scientist's spirits.  Blackwood could imagine any number of large felines who might have the same expression if they'd fallen into an unexpected puddle.  The intrepid soldier stepped into the kitchen, dripping.

          "Paul?" Suzanne said, trying not to smile.  " _What_ were you doing out in the rain?"

          "I was—"  The soldier caught himself.  "The front door was wide open, I was checking it out, and—"

          "The wind blew it shut," Blackwood finished for him.  "Colonel, I opened the door."

          "Why?" the man ground out.

          Harrison blinked.  "I was in my office, working.  I wanted to let the fresh air in.  It was so clean, refreshing—"

          "Fresh air?" the colonel asked, dark eyes narrowing ominously.  "Don't you have a window, mister?"

          Suzanne giggled and leaned back against the cabinets to watch.

          Harrison fought hard not to smile.  "Yes, Paul, I do at that."

          "Then use it!" the soldier commanded as he stomped off toward his room.

          Slosh…  Drip…  Squish…  Splosh…

          Blackwood waited a reasonable amount of time, then poured a cup for the soldier and headed off to the man's room.  Suzanne patted him on the shoulder as he passed.  "If you're not back in half an hour, I'm calling in the troops."

          "Thanks," Blackwood said.  "Bury me on the property so I can haunt him, will you?"

          "Absolutely," she agreed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Standing outside Ironhorse's door, Blackwood hesitated, then forced himself to knock.  "Colonel?" he called.

          "What?" was the immediate, perturbed reply.

          "I'd like to come in for a minute."

          The door opened, Ironhorse now dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt.  He was still toweling his hair dry.  "Something wrong, Doctor?" he asked sincerely.

          Holding out the coffee like a peace offering, Blackwood was relieved to see the small smile tug the soldier's lips.  "In a manner of speaking, yes."

          "Thanks," Paul said, nodding at the cup.  "More transmissions?"

          Harrison shook his head as he stepped into the Spartan room.  "No.  Me."

          Ironhorse's eyebrows rose.  "What is it?" he asked, walking over to hang the towel up in the small attached bath.  He combed his hair and reemerged with the coffee.  Taking a seat at the small writing table, he waited for Blackwood to speak.

          Harrison shifted uncomfortably, then took a seat on the foot of the bed before he blurted out.  "I wanted to apologize."

          "About the door?" Ironhorse questioned, continuing before Harrison could speak.  "It's all right.  I should have been more careful.  I should have _guessed_ it was you."

          That caused Blackwood to smile.  "I hope not," he said.  "I'd be getting too predictable."

          Ironhorse shook his head.  "Not likely."  Leaning forward, he leveled a serious expression on the scientist.  "Harrison, what's really wrong?"

          Blackwood stared at the floor.  "What happened, while I was… coming down…  What I did… said.  I—"

          "That was the addiction talking, Doctor.  Not you."

          Harrison looked up.  "But it still hurt, didn't it?"

          It was Ironhorse's turn to look uncomfortable.  "Yes and no, Doctor.  I've known men to say any number of things under the influence of drugs.  Usually it's just bull, but it can have roots in real feelings."

          Blackwood nodded.  "Exactly… so, I just wanted to tell you, it might have been true in the beginning, but not now.  God knows, not now."

          Standing, Ironhorse drained his cup, then nodded.  "I know that.  And I know that it _was_ true when we first started working together.  What hurt were the misconceptions we both had then, not what you said."  He gave the man a small grin.  "And you have a decent right hook, too."

          Blackwood stood as well, following the man out of the room.  "I just wanted to tell you."

          "I appreciate it, Doctor.  But let this be a lesson.  No more weird la-la music."

          "'Weird la-la music'?"  Blackwood huffed.  "I'll have you know that this so called la-la music is usually very good for centering your inner vibrations."

          Ironhorse stalked off for the kitchen, nodding and giving Suzanne a wink as he passed.  " _My_ inner vibrations are just fine, Blackwood.  It's yours I worry about."

          "Now, hold on, Colonel—"

          "Admit it, Blackwood, you're just weird."

          "Colonel, some mornings it just doesn't pay to try and reach a mind as rigid as yours."

          "Rigid?  I'll have you know—"

          Suzanne shook her head and smiled.  They'd won another battle.


End file.
